


In the Middle

by wesharethestars



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 12:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11402766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesharethestars/pseuds/wesharethestars
Summary: “You should have listened to me!” she snaps. He never fucking listens.“You're hardly in the right mind to be directing.” He's flippant,  the hand closest to her gesturing wildly.“And what is that supposed to mean?”





	In the Middle

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This piece originally began as my A level coursework with different characters but in my head, this story always belonged to Lydia and Stiles and I wanted to be able to show that. I'm English so I'm sorry if they don't sound American. This is the first time I've ever published my work online, so all advice is greatly appreciated.  
> Enjoy! :)

“Are you _sure_ you have everything?” he asks again, as if the answer will be different. “because we can go back.”  His eyes flick to the rear view mirror, her apartment block behind them.

“Yeah, I'm sure.” She sighs, sounding agitated. His gaze leaves the road to search her face. She tugs at the seat belt where it scratches her neck.

“Change of clothes? Pajamas? A toothbrush?” She clenches her jaw. His fingers twitch towards the stereo before returning to the steering wheel.

“Yes.” Her skin feels sticky and she leans closer to the open window. The rain is light and it helps cool her. She watches as it sprinkles on the glass, like sugar.

“Okay. Okay. Are you in pain? Of course, you are. There's some Tylenol in the glove compartment.” He knows she's irritated but he’s completely lost. His left hand lifts from the wheel and gestures towards it. His fingers make a shadow on her thigh.

“I don't need Tylenol Stiles, I need to get to the hospital.” Her tone is unnecessarily sharp and they pretend it's the pain talking. He bites his lip, looking at her.

“We're seven minutes away,” he says softly, nodding at the GPS. She almost doesn't hear him; It makes her want to look at him and she hates it. She crosses her arms and watches the streetlights pass through the window. Their glow paints the pavement. She wants to let the silence last but something opens her mouth.

“You should have just let me go on my own.” She's still looking away and he rolls his eyes. It starts to rain harder. She reaches towards the door and presses the button, closing the window. He flips the indicator and the windscreen wipers screech to life.

“Oh yeah, I can see you driving to the hospital ending really well. I'm pretty sure you're not even allowed to drive!” He's sarcastic and for some reason it makes her shoulders feel less tense.

“Of course I am! My limbs are still functioning.” She tries to match his voice but the rising sharp pain in her stomach makes it too loud. There's a pause and when she speaks again, it's quieter.

“I wouldn't have driven anyway.”

“Because walking is obviously the smart solution.” He pulls the gear stick sharply. He doesn't understand why she's being like this.

“I would have got a taxi.” I sound like a child she thinks and her cheeks feel warm.

“Jesus, Lydia.” He's resigned and she doesn’t know what to do.

“I can do this on my own.” She turns and looks at him but he won't face her.

“Evidently.” His jaw is clenched and his eyes won't leave the road. A black sports car overtakes them, and he glares at its private number plate. His battered blue jeep is scrap metal compared to _that._

“This isn't your problem, Stiles.” _Even if you want it to be_.

“I don't care. I'm not just going to abandon you like-”

“That's _none_ of your business.”

He finally looks at her, his neck tense with effort.

“But it's _his_ , isn't it? You're supposed to be his business I don't fucking see him anywhere!”

“He doesn't know.” She doesn't mean to tell him, really. But his words were harsh and he was shouting and her throat felt like it would close up if she didn't say _something_.

“What?”

“I never told him.”

 _Jesus. This girl._ His fingers tighten on the wheel. _She’s never fucking simple._

“Lydia…” He starts but she refuses to let him finish.

“It doesn't concern him. Or you.” He mustn't have any words left, she thinks,  because the car is silent again. He faces the road, chewing his lip and glancing at the GPS sporadically. A car passes with its headlights on full beam and it makes his eyelashes glow.

 

“Take the next left,” she commands a few minutes later and he treats it like a suggestion.

“But the GPS says-”

“This way is quicker.”  She sighs, already exhausted with the argument. She props an elbow on the car door and rests her forehead on her fingers.

“Why hasn't it taken me that way then?”

“Because it's not taking traffic into account.”

“But it has traffic updates!” he whines and they miss the turning.

“Well we’ve passed it now!” She tries to point behind her, but she can’t. There's this _awful goddamn pain_ _again_ and it makes her groan.

“Not that far, now.” He's soft again. His hand leaves the wheel and squeezes her wrist, his calloused fingers almost rough against the skin. Her breathing slows as the pain slowly leaks away. When they reach the traffic lights, he pulls away. He yanks the handbrake upwards and his left leg pulls away from the peddles, beginning to bounce.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” he huffs. The glare of the brake lights ahead ricochet off the glass.

“I told you there would be traffic,” she replies, teasing.

“WelI, I didn't know! It's half eleven, where the hell are all these cars coming from?” he says.

“There’s a show on in the park, remember?” He doesn't answer, just frowns slightly and she rolls her eyes.

“You should have listened to me!” she snaps. _He never fucking listens._

“You're hardly in the right mind to be directing.” He's flippant, the hand closest to her gesturing wildly.

“And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

 _Shit_. He shifts.

“Well, you know.” Both hands squeeze the wheel tightly, knuckles white.

“No. I don't.”

“You're in a lot of pain. You're not thinking straight.”

“Oh fuck off, I'm in labor. I don't have amnesia.” She's harsh but he's aware that it's warranted.

He lifts his hands up from the wheel in surrender.

“I'm just saying-”

“Well don't. I'm sick of you always-” She wants to shout, but the pain in her stomach returns bubbles up again, and she can't. Her breath is heavy and it makes his eyes widen, because _they shouldn't be this close together yet_.

“It's okay erm, deep breaths.” His head twists repeated from the road to her, as if he might miss the traffic moving ahead. He pushes the handbrake down. _C’mon, just move already!_

“Stiles, you need to hurry.” She tries to speak calmly but her jaw is jammed closed.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Okay. Okay. Erm. Hold on.” He checks his rear view mirror before reversing sharply. He turns the wheel and she's confused, before realising they've changed route. The rain slows, then.

“See? Much quicker,” she quips, voice light. It's an attempt at a joke and it makes his lips curl up.

“Not helping, Lyds.” He sounds exasperated and his heart's still pounding but the panic has left his tone. He switches off the wipers and she relaxes in her seat slightly.

 ***

When they reach the hospital ten minutes later, she doesn’t comment on his haphazard parking. The accident and emergency sign is bright against the pale brickwork of the building and it doesn’t help with the throb of Lydia’s head. He kills the engine and unclips his seatbelt, before turning his body towards her.

“Okay, right. Come on let's get you out.” He sounds authoritative and she feels young.

“This isn't a date, I can open my own goddamn door.” She knows that's unreasonable, but the motion helps steady her breathing.

“I'm just trying to help.” He sounds tired, running a hand through his dark hair roughly before tugging the door open.

“Well, get the bags then,” she replies, as nicely as she can. His hair looks messy, and he's 18 again. There's a lump in her throat. She curls her arm around her stomach and turns her head away from the glaring red sign. _And Stiles_.

 

They reach the doors of the hospital and both realise they’re clueless.

“Do you know where you're going?” he asks her, hopefully. He's starting to realise how _completely_ _fucking unprepared_ he is.

“No Stiles.” She rolls her eyes.  “Just ask someone!”

“Ask who?”

“Anyone!” He looks around, frantic, until he notices a porter standing watching them. He walks towards him, arms jittery, his shoes squeaking against the linoleum.

“Hello. Excuse me. Do you know where maternity is?” His smile is an apology for his brash voice and the man accepts it with a nod.

“Yeah, through those doors, and take the second right.” He looks behind Stiles, and nods at Lydia. “Does your girl need a ‘chair?”

“She's not-” he stumbles over his words, head whipping back and forth between the two. _She's not my girl._

“Yes please.” She smiles back, ignoring Stiles’ floundering. She's leaning against the wall, her breathing harsh. She doesn't know how far maternity is from here, but she definitely can't walk it.

“Of course sweetheart.” He smiles and grabs a wheelchair.

“Thanks, you're a lifesaver,” Stiles replies as she sits.

Lydia wants to say something, but she’s already being pushed away.

“No worries. Best of luck,” the man shouts to them, but it's faint behind the heavy closing doors.

“Second right, Stiles.” She reminds him because his fingers are tapping the handles quickly. _Breathe._ She thinks maybe she should be telling Stiles that, if his pace is anything to go by.

“I know, Lyds.” He smiles and lets out a laugh.

They enter the ward and head towards the front desk. Laminated posters of various sizes litter the pale blue walls. The bright lights overhead distort them, making them hard to read. She closes her eyes and tries to breathe steadily. _Okay. You’ve got this. You’re gonna be fine._ She stumbles over what to say but a woman interrupts her thoughts.

“Hello dear. You alright there?” She’s short and her auburn curls clash slightly with her blue uniform. Her voice is warm and Lydia’s hands shake less when she hears it.

“She's in labour,” Stiles replies voice loud and panicked, suddenly. He pushes her closer to the desk. He rests his hand against her neck, as if he's checking her pulse.

“Let's get you checked in then.” She reaches down to grab a clipboard with paper attached and a black biro. “Are you the father?” Her eyes dart between the young couple.

“No.” There’s a pause. “I'm her friend,” he tells her and the nurse’s smile makes Lydia swallow hard.

“Are you staying?” she asks. Lydia turns to face him and he drops his hand. It makes her chest hurt.

“I mean-” he steps back, eyes averted and her stomach twists. _Does she want me here? No of course she doesn't. I'm not him. This isn't my place. I need-_

“Stay.” Her voice wobbles, but she must sound sure because he steps closer. She grabs his hand and looks at her feet.

“You sure? I can ring your mum or see if Jackson-” he motions to the phone in his pocket. She squeezes his fingers and he stops moving.

“No. I want you to stay.” She swallows and looks at him. “Please.” A moment passes before his shoulders relax.

“Yeah okay.” He smiles. He lets out a breath.  “I- I’ll stay.”

 

***

 

“Hey. The wanderer returns.”

It's barely above a whisper, but it still makes Stiles jump as he sets his cup down. Her head doesn't leave the pillow, copper hair crushed under her cheek. Her eyelids are heavy and a layer of sweat has dried on her forehead but she’s smiling.

“Sorry, I thought you'd still be asleep,” he apologizes softly. Lydia blames exhaustion for the look of guilt that passes over his face. “I, er, went to get coffee.” He slips his phone back in his pocket before sitting down. “I rang your mom for you.”

She lifts her head up to stare at him.

“She's not coming now is she?” her hushed tone sharper now. He sits straighter and rests his hand on her shoulder.

“No don't worry, I told her you're okay and in safe hands.” He rolls his left shoulder before leaning back in the chair. The green faux leather sticks to his skin a little but he's too tired to move. “I made her promise not to come till tomorrow. Knew you wouldn't want to deal with her this late.” He looks down and twists his wrist to see the face of his watch. “Well, this early.”

“Ugh.” She sinks back into her pillow, the mere thought of morning exhausting her. “What time is it?”

“Just turned half 5.” He tells her, though his eyes are closed, face turned up toward the panelled ceiling.

“God, how long was I out?” She runs a hand over her face, stretches her neck and pulls the covers closer. He has to swallow because she's all soft and _looking_ at him. Her back is facing the window and the weak morning light makes her glow a little. His keys sit next to his cup and the key ring dangles precariously off the edge of the table. A photo covered in battered plastic. Its faded, years old, a gift from her. He ignores it.

“Not long, perhaps an hour I think.”

“Christ,” she laughs. “I need coffee.”

“No. You need _rest_.” He turns to her, eyebrows raised. “You remember what that is, right?”

“Oh shut up.” She sounds annoyed but she's smiling. “How was she? While I was asleep.” Her hand reaches over and rests on the plastic cot.

“She passed out not long after you fed her. Must have woken up when I left.” His eyes follow her hand and he takes a sip from his cup. “You got a name yet?”

She raises a brow. “What, since you asked me this morning?” She closes her eyes for a second. “Wait. I mean yesterday morning.” She shuffles slowly until she's sitting up. “No, uh I was too busy with you know the whole pushing her out part? Remember?”

He blinks. “Vividly, thanks.”

“Oh don't be a baby,” she laughs. “I didn't think of many girl names to be honest. I was sure she was gonna be a boy.”

“You disappointed?”

“Nah.” She shrugs lazily. “Boy, girl, puppy. She's healthy that's all that matters.”

“She's perfect.” He’s quiet and she doesn't think he meant to say it aloud.

“You can help you know.” She says like it's nothing. Something punches his stomach, hard. He has to force himself to breathe normally because _she_ _seriously just asked that oh my God._

“With what?” and he _swears_ he tried to keep his voice level.

“Picking out a name.”

“Oh.” His stomach isn't heavy now but he can't look at her. “You sure?”

“Yeah, don't be stupid.” She's confused at his hesitation. He's still facing away and it's making her shoulders tense. She stands up smoothing out her covers, tucking the thin cotton into the corners neatly.

“It's just...it's pretty important.”

“Yeah I know.” There's underlying annoyance, like she's losing her patience. She puffs her pillow. “But I mean, the whole delivery part was important too and you were pretty solid then.” Her voice is getting higher. She's panicking, chest tight. She turns to look at him. _He doesn't want this, he didn't sign up for this. Stop asking him for help._

“I thought I was gonna throw up.” His eyes are wide, exaggerated. It makes her laugh, out loud, and she thinks that was the point.

“But you didn't.” She flicks him on the shoulder lightly. “ _That_ is an achievement.”

A silence falls on them. He leans forwards towards the baby, before pausing and sitting back. _God, I want this_ , he thinks. _So fucking much._

“What about Mia?” He hesitates. “As a name.” It's the first time he's asked her a question he didn't already have the answer to. She's slow to answer, a thick heaviness returning to her head.

“I'll think about it.” She yawns and places her hand on his arm. He lets out a long sigh and grins.

 ***

It's a while later when he speaks again. The sun is stronger through the window and it stains the duvet gold. The baby is awake now, but silent, wide eyes gazing up at nothing. Her small cotton clad feet flail outwards like she's trying to get comfortable and her fingers clasp the air.  Stiles’ head is lent against his fist as he stares, fascinated. He glances at his watch and swallows.

“Lyds.”

“Hmm?”  She's half asleep again. She keeps her eyes closed but turns her head towards him. He sits up straight, palms against his thighs.

“Listen.” He clears his voice. “After I rang your mom. I um, spoke to Jackson.”

She jumps up, panicked. _No no no no no._ “What? What do you mean spoke to him?”

“Well I rang him.” He replies and he reminds himself he shouldn't feel guilty.

“Stiles, you had _no_ right to-”

“He needs to know Lydia.”

“But I told you-” She’s loud and he has to raise his voice to speak over her.

“It is not fair. On anyone. You can’t not tell him. And if it was me-”

“But it isn't you is it.” The baby startles. Lydia’s glare shatters and she turns to her daughter. She smiles down at her, anger gone. When she turns to face him again, baby in her arms, Stiles can see it's been replaced by something heavier. _Fear_.

“If,” he speaks more calmly, so as not to startle either of the girls, “I would want to know. I'd want to be here.”

“Yeah but you're not him, he's not-”

“He's on his way.” It's abrupt, too harsh but he needs to stop her finishing that sentence.

“Jesus, Stiles.” She sits on the bed, crumpled. _God I can't do this. I can't see him again._ He folds his arms, walking further from the bed.

“I'm trying to help.” He won't meet her eye and suddenly she's _fucking furious._

“No.” She states, hard. “You're trying to pass on the responsibility, make me- _us_ \- his problem. Like I need a fucking babysitter.”

He huffs. “That's not what it's about.”

“Oh bullshit. You are so-.”

“Just listen for once Lydia, Christ! This isn't fucking high school. She's his _kid_ , you can't hide that!” The light from the window hits the crib and _God she's blonde._ He looks away from the baby. “And I know he hurt you okay? I remember.” He lets out a short, dark laugh. “But this, it's bigger than just some nasty break up.”

“He doesn't deserve to be part of her life.” She shakes her head. “No. He'll _ruin_ her.”

“But she deserves the truth.” He steps closer. “And he deserves a chance, at least. Don't you think?”

She won't meet his eyes. “I just want to protect her.” She hates that her voice breaks.

“I know Lyds.” He sits next to her on the bed. “But let him see her. This is only gonna get harder, the longer you leave it.”

“But what about-”

He places his arm around her shoulder in a loose hug. “I'm not going anywhere. I mean, I will be when he gets here, but only to have a shower and get changed. Then I'll be straight back.” He points to the door with his thumb.

“Okay,” she nods at him, voice small. His arm is warm and firm against her back and if this was any other time, she'd lean into it.

“You need to do this, Lyds.”

There's a long pause. His arm is still there, she realises, fingers brushing the skin on her shoulders. It's been there the whole time, she supposes.

“Yeah.” She swallows and sounds more sure. There's a long buzz and Michael pulls his arm away to reach for his phone.

“He's in the parking lot. I told him I'd get him but it's up to you.” He shrugs, smiling. “I can tell him to piss off if that's what you want.” He turns and reaches for his keys and Lydia stomach sinks because _he's leaving her._ She waits, baby curled into the crook of her neck, but he's still fiddling, the sound of clinking metal almost loud enough drown out his muttered cursing. When he faces her again, his left hand is holding a key out, the rest tangled in his pocket.

“What?” She looks from his face to the key a few times, confused. She steps closer and he pushes it into her hand. She rubs her thumb along the rough edge.

“It’s yours. If you want it,” he says and _what is that supposed to mean?_

“I thought you’d lost the spare?”

“Lyds I _told_ you I didn’t lose it!” he huffs. “That was Scott-”

“Sure it was.” She raises an eyebrow.

“ _Whatever._ ” He rolls his eyes. “The point is, it’s not a spare.” He stops and bites his lip. Lydia looks at the key, confused. When she meets his eyes again, they’re searching her face nervously.

_Oh._

She swallows. Her mouth opens, _I have to say something,_ and Stiles takes a step closer. He opens his mouth and his lips flood with colour.

“I know you don’t need me around or anything and that’s not what I’m saying It’s just…” His eyebrows scrunch up and she can see he’s struggling, panicked.  “I can do all the heavy lifting- well Scott can- and there's plenty of room for all of us and I know you wanted to move at some point and this could be the perfect solution.”

“Stiles-”

“I want this okay?” He’s forceful and his eyes won't leave hers. “More than I’ve wanted anything, really.”

“Good.” She's smiling hesitantly.  

“Yeah?” His shoulders relax like someone's cut his strings.

“Uh huh,” she nods. Her hand finds his wrist and holds it firm. His phone beeps again but she doesn't let go. He twists his hand until it's clasping her fingertips.

“Go get him. You reek anyway.” She’s still clutching the key tight, he notices. “Mia’s words, not mine,” she quips, playful. There's a pause and Stiles forgets to breathe.

“Mia?”

“What can I say?” She smiles, shrugging. “It suits her. You’ve got good taste.”

Stiles grins.

 


End file.
